


The Shot Heard 'Round the World

by WaywardSun1



Series: Carry On, My Wayward Sons of Liberty [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - American Revolution, Boys In Love, Friendship, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 08:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18090494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardSun1/pseuds/WaywardSun1
Summary: PREQUEL TO "BEFORE THE DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT"Castiel and Dean are Continental Army officers in the American Revolution. They've been best friends since childhood, but neither of them ever acted on their attraction towards each other...until now, right in the middle of a losing war with the British. Not only is homosexuality a hanging offense in 1776, but making infinitely things worse: Cas is Dean's commanding officer.Things are about to get super dramatic up in here, y'all.





	The Shot Heard 'Round the World

"Lay down in my bed and unbutton your breeches."

Dean's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Uh...I’m sorry, what?”

"Do as I say, Lieutenant. Doctor?" queried Castiel abruptly, turning around to their camp surgeon, who had arrived to the major's tent a few moments earlier in a flurry. It wasn't often he was summoned with such urgency, and the call had ignited a spark of panic in him.

"Major?" replied Doctor Ketch.

"Lieutenant Winchester is ill. Check him out, please."

Dean looked between both of them, his heart pounding wildly. He couldn't say he was fine again. Castiel knew he wasn't. If he really was forced to be examined, it was about to be incredibly obvious what was paining him. And he was scared to have the truth uncovered.

The doctor sensed Dean's hesitation and immediately spoke to him directly, in a calming tone.

"Certainly, Lieutenant. Take off your coat, please. What’s going on? You’re pale."

Dean removed his coat with a sigh, but before he could answer, Castiel pitched in with his assessment.

"His lower right side has been paining him greatly. I've seen him favoring it since he returned from New Jersey, although he's been trying to hide it, so I'm worried of some kind of inflammation in the appendix. Would you be able to tell if that’s the case?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, sir. But for his sake I hope that is not so. Do you feel feverish, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir."

The doctor stepped up and pressed hard into Dean's hip without any warning, causing him to let out a yelp of pain. All three of them froze with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," Dean gasped, the shock of the touch still coursing through his body like lightning. "I wasn't expecting that."

“I know, that was the point. I wouldn’t have gotten a true reaction if you were able to brace yourself first. But I’m sorry for it, all the same.” The doctor turned to Castiel with a concerned, aggrieved look on his face. "It may very well be the appendix. I think he should lie down so I can examine him further," he said quietly, as if Dean wasn't two feet away and listening intently.

“Lie down," commanded Castiel harshly, as one would command a bad dog. This time, Dean obeyed, but his expression made it clear how unhappy he was about it. It was exceedingly strange to be occupying the bed of his best friend. No matter how many times he had fantasized about it in the past, he had never wanted it to actually become reality. Especially not like _this_.

The doctor hesitated, then spoke to Castiel again. "And, sir…I…would like to request the patient's privacy, at least for the time being?"

It was an exceedingly polite and cautious way of asking Castiel to leave his own tent, and it wasn't a request made lightly. Ketch was obviously very keen to not make an enemy out of the unit’s temperamental commander, since he was one of the few left who wasn’t.

"I’ll stay here," Castiel replied after a moment of hesitation. "Both of you go to Dean's tent, so you can examine him there."

Dean leaped to his feet, causing more aggravation to his tender side. He winced and staggered, and started to fall, which caused Castiel to grab him around the waist to hold him upright. It worked, but Dean pulled away in surprise, causing Castiel to throw him a glare that nearly scorched the walls of the tent. But he said nothing and turned back to the doctor.

"I expect a full report as soon as your examination is complete."

"Of course."

"Lieutenant?" prompted Castiel as they started to leave.

Dean turned to see him holding his coat out, ready to put on.

"Don't forget this."

"Thank you, Cas," replied Dean with keen embarrassment as he slipped an arm into the sleeve. It was bad enough to lie in his bed, and to be held upright, but now to be dressed by him, too? Dean's face burned bright red as he fought back his arousal and noted that Castiel's frustration had now turned into deep, almost fatherly concern. Perhaps he shouldn't have tried to hide his injury, after all. But…there was nothing that could be done now except to hope the doctor would keep his secret.

\-----

Upon returning to his tent, Dean laid down on his bed and promptly unbuttoned the top buttons of his breeches for the doctor, who was predictably startled by the angry red eye-shaped wound in his hip.

"There it is," said Dean casually, unnecessarily pointing at it for emphasis. "I was shot. The ball was taken out, and I’m not feverish. But it hurts like a mother fucker. Is there anything you can do for me?"

Ketch looked at him in amazement.

"And no," continued Dean, "I haven’t informed the major yet. Trying to avoid that."

"We'll discuss that later. Let's focus on the wound, and on getting you better.” He looked ashen suddenly. “Also...had I known earlier, I never would have pressed on it so."

”That was entirely my fault,” Dean answered graciously.

”Thank you. Lie still. Close your eyes so you can’t anticipate my actions.”

The doctor poked and prodded at Dean’s abdomen for several minutes while he writhed in silent protest. Then he had him turn around on his belly so that he could push on his back in different areas.

After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor stopped his ministrations and sat heavily down in the chair next to the bed, sighing deeply.

"Alright. Button back up. You will fully recover and appear to have no injury to the bone-"

"I know that," Dean growled as he flipped slowly around onto his back again.

"No, you don't. I'm the doctor. Tell me, who removed the bullet and sewed the stitches? He did such a wonderful job and I would like to engage his services. It certainly wasn't one of my men. There isn't a good surgeon's assistant to be found anywhere in this camp. Just former butchers and the like, and they're all but useless."

Dean swallowed hard as he pictured Benny tending to the gushing hole in his side. Not that he remembered it, being unconscious at the time. But his imagination was strong enough that it almost made the occasion into an actual memory.

"I'm afraid that’s quite impossible, doctor."

"Why?"

"Because the person responsible for my care was a civilian."

"Hmmm. Well, can we convince him to join us? We need hin, and we would pay him well."

Dean hesitated, but knew that if he didn't halt this line of questioning now, the doctor would take it straight to Castiel for follow-up. That would be worse.

"He’s...he’s not on our side, I’m afraid.”

"Ah. That's too bad. Sit up slowly. I want you to do nothing but rest for three days."

Dean laughed weakly. "Right. Tell Castiel that, I'm sure he'll be pleased. I am leaving tonight for a mission we’ve been planning for weeks."

"Speaking of which, he's going to ask me for a diagnosis. You do realize your secret isn’t going to last the day?"

Dean froze halfway through his attempt to button his breeches and started to protest.

Ketch interrupted, "It’s none of my business why you’re hiding it from him. I'm sure you have a very good reason to conceal it. However, I do not. So are you going to tell him, or shall I?"

There was a rustling at the tent flap door, causing them both to turn and look. Castiel walked in, and Dean quickly covered himself with the blanket as he sat up.

"Doctor?" he asked, not looking at Dean. "Are you finished yet?"

"Yes, sir. I'm pleased to report he’ll fully recover, but will be very sore for some time. I recommend a strict bed rest of at least three days in order not to reopen and aggravate the wound. Preferably a week."

Castiel looked astonished. "The…wound?"

The doctor looked at his patient, lips tightly pursed. "It appears the two of you need to talk, sir, perhaps without my presence to impede the confession."

"You will stay. Lieutenant? What confession is this?"

Dean was almost white as the snow outside the tent, and had broken out into a cold sweat. He felt his career crashing down around him, and already the shame of Castiel's disapproval coursed through every vein in his body. This was a disaster. He hated himself for not telling the truth upfront, and was unable to look either of them in the eye.

"Sorento shot me during my escape, sir. I was…sewn up prior to my return to camp."

 _Pause._ "Where?"

"Just outside Philadelphia."

Castiel frowned. "No; I meant where on your body were you shot?"

Dean flushed with embarrassment. "My right hip."

Ketch spoke up again. "There's no permanent damage, but he’s at risk for re-opening the wound with too much activity."

"Show me."

Dean laid back down immediately, not wishing to anger him further with a show of reluctance. The doctor peeled back the blanket and breeches, and Castiel took a step forward to peer at the damage.

"That's a very serious injury," Castiel observed quietly. "Could have been mortal, I gather?"

"Indeed, sir. He was lucky to have the civilian tend to him with such remarkable skill. I only wish we could draft him into our ranks."

Castiel looked at Dean. “A civilian? Who?”

“Uh. I didn’t get a name,” Dean lied, feeling like he was punched in the gut, again. He should have never told the doctor that detail, and he closed his eyes in emotional agony before reopening them a few moments later to peek at Castiel's expression, which was predictably a show of anger and hurt. The two looked at each other for a few moments, each deeply occupied with their own thoughts and concerns. Dean looked away first, then through the pounding pulse in his ears he heard Castiel speak as if he was a hundred feet away and under water.

"Cover him back up. Three days to start, you say? Very well. You’re to report back to me on Sunday evening and let me know how he is doing, and whether further restriction is necessary."

"Yes, sir."

"Major-" began Dean, but to his dismay, Castiel turned away and left the tent without another word.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his shaking hands, while considering whether or not to write a resignation letter now, or wait to be yelled at later and then dismissed from the army.

The doctor shook his head and made a tsk, tsk sound. "I'm afraid you’ll have some explaining to do later, my dear boy."

"You didn’t have to tell him about the civilian!" Dean hissed.

"I'm going to bring you a poultice for the wound. Lie still."

"I don't want it. Just leave me alone."

"I’ll gladly leave you alone…after the poultice is applied. Until then, you will cooperate or I shall report to our commander that you aren't being-"

Dean held up a hand and sighed. "Just bring it, then.”

\-------------------

Dean was grateful to be released after three days of almost no activity whatsoever - in which he mostly just lay around worrying about his future, rather than applying himself to reading books or writing letters - but when it came time to offer the explanation that Castiel was awaiting, he wished he could wait another four days. Even more than that, perhaps.

"You asked to see me?" he began carefully as he entered his Major's tent.

"Yes. How are you feeling, Dean?"

"Completely healed and ready to return to my duties. Going a little stir-crazy, actually."

"Glad to hear. Then I'm ready to listen to your explanation of why you went out hunting with Benny again when I expressly forbid you from doing exactly that. Please go ahead, I'm listening."

Castiel looked down at him expectantly, not moving a muscle. He was waiting with apparent politeness, but Dean knew him well enough to read the hurt and fury behind those blue eyes.

"To flush out a nest of British spies near Germantown. They’re parading as a Connecticut militia unit. We’ve talked about this, Cas.”

“Yes, and I agreed they needed to be put down. By the _army,_ which is equipped to do the job. Not just you and Benny all by yourselves out there.” Castiel cleared his throat, and his expression changed. "He's not even part of the army, for god's sake."

 _Holy shit,_ Dean realized with a jolt. _He’s jealous. Of Benny. He thinks…oh my god..._

Castiel’s face went neutral again. "You’re Washington’s head of intelligence, and you got _shot._ Don't you think it would have been wise to inform me that you were ready to keel over at any moment and take all of the information in your head with you, so that we would have literally nothing to pass on to your successor?"

Dean had not expected the conversation to take this turn, and he was left quite speechless.

"And don't you think," Castiel continued, "that it reflects extremely poorly upon your judgment when I find that you are willing to risk our entire cause in order to hide the fact that you disobeyed an order? Had you told me that outright, I would have been far less angry than I am now."

Dean shrugged a little, hoping his casual manner would mask his embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I understand if you want to…"

"Want to what?" asked Castiel, voice raspy and hard.

"If you want to ask for my resignation." Dean said this matter-of-factly, but he could not breathe while doing so…and he certainly hoped Castiel wouldn't take him up on the offer.

"What did you find out there?" he finally asked after a very long pause.

Dean hesitated. "Uh...burned out campfires and bones from small animals. They’d already left, except for Sorento. He was apparently bringing up the rear and heard us coming back, or something. I didn’t even have time to pull out my pistol before he fired. Benny carried me almost all the way back. Did you know that one of his brothers was in that unit? Not anymore, of course. They killed him when he refused to turn double.”

A sudden look of understanding and empathy washed over Castiel's expression. "Ah.”

"Hence the reason I joined him on the hunt.” Dean paused. “The _only_ reason, by the way,” he added carefully. 

Castiel nodded. "And your wound is completely healed, you say?"

"Yes," Dean said quickly, grateful for the change of subject. "It’s scabbed over quite tightly, and doesn't cause me too much pain anymore."

"Let me see it."

Dean complied, feeling a warm flush creeping up his cheeks as he unbuckled his belt as quickly as his fumbling fingers could manage. He knew he shouldn't feel self-conscious, and that Castiel was only displaying the utmost care for his friend and the one officer who could pretty much throw the war in one direction or another, depending on the day of the week. Hell, even by the hour, depending on what he was hearing.

Dean gulped and pulled up his waistcoat, then his shirt, and then rolled down the top of his breeches, just enough to expose the wound but still keep his modesty intact.

Castiel moved forward and reached out as if to touch the scar. But he stopped himself abruptly.

Dean could not breathe.

They stood there.

Still as a painting.

Looking at each other’s bodies.

_Judging._

_Wondering._

_Wanting._

"Cas," Dean finally croaked, in a strangled tone. "As you can see, it’s healing perfectly. May I resume my duties?"

Castiel continued his move forward and slowly wrapped his left hand around Dean's hip, his thumb hovering over the wound without touching it. His palm was hot as an iron.

Time lurched to a standstill.

Their eyes met, and the jolt to Dean's chest was like a hundred cannons being fired at once.

Castiel was experiencing a similar reaction.

It was not at all unpleasant. But most definitely highly inappropriate. Life-threateningly inappropriate. And they both knew it.

Castiel bent down and kissed his forehead, extremely gently and almost longingly. He couldn't help but notice his friend's tautly stretched lips silently begging for more. He slowly reached a hand up and gently laid the tip of a finger on Dean’s mouth.  

“May I..?” he asked with a thin smile, eyes as cheerful as they had ever been.

Dean could only nod due to his sheer inability to speak under these circumstances. He could swear he heard two hearts pounding, not just his own.

For a full ten seconds, Castiel passionately gave those lips what they wanted.

What they _both_ wanted. Had wanted since they were old enough to feel desire for a different kind of touch.

 _But just this once, and never again_ , each man told himself.

"You may resume your duties," Castiel whispered into Dean's ear, before carefully withdrawing his hand and backing up to a safe distance. Then in a normal voice: "I'm extremely relieved that you're on the mend. We can’t have our head of intelligence cooped up in his tent and useless, even in the winter."

Dean yanked down his shirt and buckled his belt, desperately trying to gather his wits and not even sure what had really just happened. The sound of his own voice seemed to be coming from somewhere else entirely.

"So…you're not angry with me?"

"Of course I am. You acted carelessly with Benny, and even more so sneaking up on an empty campsite during the day. Our friendship doesn’t translate into me just letting you do whatever you want, and I’ll have to consider disciplinary action in the future if this happens again.”

Dean smirked. "Please don't take this the wrong way, Cas, but...I wouldn't mind getting myself shot again if _that’s_ going to be the punishment."

Castiel’s eyes went wide, and he flushed hotly. “You’re dismissed, lieutenant.”

Dean smiled and winked, and as he left the tent he was grateful for the growing distraction in his breeches that was making him forget all about the pain in his hip...

 


End file.
